


Night Rider

by Edgeanescence



Category: Grand Theft Auto III, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgeanescence/pseuds/Edgeanescence
Summary: Does he cling to the past? Or does the past cling to him?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Night Rider

Mountains were like nature’s skyscrapers, reaching for the stars but never quite getting there. A valley would sometimes part them like Moses to the sea, filling the space with the occasional lake or river. Sunlight peeked around the mountaintops, glimmering through the trees and highlighting the very edge of the summits. A secluded road wound through the cliffs of the ridge, adding a slight bit of character.

A car came screeching down the asphalt, drifting through puddles of the morning’s rain. The water was slung into the air with tiny pebbles, creating unintentional fanfare. Claude’s hands skillfully pulled the wheel accordingly, the car narrowly avoiding flying off the edge of the cliff.

Some people took slow, gentle drives to get their minds off of things. Claude was a racer, going fast was in his blood.

From an outsider’s perspective, nothing seemed to ever get to him. It was as if he had a face made of stone, something that masked all the pesky feelings that came over him. He came off as calm yet serious, maybe a little intimidating given his taciturnity. But Claude was so much more then what others regarded him as.

He tended to allow the pressure build-up within, continually mounting until it finally exploded. Arguing was never an option, and his second option was physical violence, which he wanted to put behind himself. Speeding down an abandoned road was his next best option for release. 

His knuckles were pure white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel. Claude’s brows furrowed as his eyes squinted at the road. It was getting darker, the golden glow silhouetting the mountains suddenly vanishing, swallowed by the encroaching night. Claude flicked on his headlights, blasting light a few feet in front of him. His foot dangerously stepped on the gas, causing the engine to purr.

Engine sounds were always pleasing to his ears. It reminded him of a simpler time, before all of the hell with Catalina. Back when drag racing was his highest criminal offense when he didn’t have several gangs out on his tail. Back when he was himself and not Liberty City’s most wanted.

Claude toyed with the idea in his mind for a bit. An alternate universe where he wasn’t liable for anyone’s deaths sounded great. He could have even become a pro racer, deserting the illegal drag races for the real deal, not to mention money.

For a moment, the winding road in front of him seemed to transform into a race track. Thousands of people lined the stands, cheering him on. It encouraged him to put the pedal to the metal, speeding up even faster than he already was going. Just one more lap and he would win the race. His sportscar squealed as he made sharp turns in the illusion, kicking up enough dust to put a smoker in a coughing fit.

It was euphoric, pure bliss. 

He smirked as he grew closer to the finish line. Claude could practically taste victory. 

Suddenly an eighteen-wheeler honked its horn as it blazed by an intersection. Claude slammed on the breaks, stopping mere inches from the massive truck. The illusion shattered in a matter of minutes, bringing the man back to reality. Sweat was pouring down his head, and Claude found himself blinking away the surprise. The foot of the hills was now upon him, a scarce few streetlamps illuminating the road. He frowned, a middle finger stuck up in defiance as he watched the truck go by in disgust. Oh, just how he wanted to live in that fantasy, pretending everything was fine.

That dream was a lost cause. Dead in the water. Just like the night engulfing him, his mind grew plagued with negativity. No matter how much he wanted to disregard the past, it would always haunt him. Maria was lifeless, Catalina would have always manipulated him. Dozens of banks lost money, and CJ experienced brief torment. 

Every killing replayed in his mind, like a sickening horror flick. The more Claude dwelled on it, the more vivid the imagery was. Kenji went from just merely being dead to being ground meat underneath a Cartel Cruiser. The result of this being the bullet-hell demise of Asuka. None of this accounted for the several explosions he was responsible for, where people blew to smithereens.

Several others were deceased because of Claude. There was no changing any of that. Blood would eternally be on his hands.

He sat at the intersection for what felt like years. Nothing seemed to traverse the road after the eighteen-wheeler, an eerie silence occupied the void. Claude was as stiff as a statue, nigh immovable. It was almost as if he was a crashed computer program, stuck on the error screen.

Eventually, Claude came to; shaking his head to evict the pessimism. A new thought crossed his mind: 

Blood was eternally on _Catalina's_ hands. Not his.


End file.
